


Your body is not your own

by banrionsi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Body Horror, Dissociation, Dream Sequence, F/M, Kinda, Very personal, depersonalisation, literally based off dreams ive been having
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banrionsi/pseuds/banrionsi
Summary: This fic is based off a dream I had the other night where I was like really out of it and then Maul was there and we made out basically.There's a small amount of body horror, like the tiniest bit. Reader is experiencing dissociation and depersonalization. I suppose then kissing Maul could be seen as dub-con but that's definitely not the intention. I was angling for a dreamlike atmosphere as well and included personal stuff like my nightmares about being afraid of falling off the earth. Also, threw in some religious imagery because I fuck w it. Anyway, lol have fun x
Relationships: Darth Maul/Reader
Kudos: 8





	Your body is not your own

The soft brush of your soles against the carpet is the only sound breaking the stillness. The grain of the banister is smooth against your palm, waxed. Your feet feel as if they are encased in cement blocks as you struggle to lift your legs up onto each new step. The stairs are taking an eternity to traverse, steep and narrow. With every step up you feel as if you will tip backwards onto yourself. You take deep breaths through your nose to fend off the vertigo.

Sometimes when you put your foot down you think it’ll just keep going, through the sickly green carpet and the wood underneath, right through the floor with your body tumbling close behind.

The shadows dance in the corners of your eyes, swim across your vision and fuzz up your vision with static. Your own laboured breathing, your soft treads, are amplified in the hollow of your skull, bouncing off of the bone and reverberating down your spine to numb your hands. Your right hand anchors you to the banister, and you clench your grip until your knuckles blanch to be sure you’re holding on tight enough that you won’t lift off the ground without a tether to find your way back down to earth.

And then the ground is evening out, balance steady and legs holding up valiantly. When you swing your head around, side to side to take in your surroundings, your face follows behind a halfstep. Doors, on either side. Ahead, to the left, to the right. More stairs in front of you. But you are at your destination.

_“Just up there. Of the doors facing you when you reach the landing, it’s the one on the right.”_

Your floating eyes lock onto the door. Long tendrils reaching from empty sockets, plasmic beads of crimson hovering around the sinew. Your mouth feels too big for your face. You are too big for your body, your flesh is bursting at the seams.

There is a man.

He leans against the landing railing. How did you miss him. He stares into you. His hands connect to wrists which connect to arms which connect to shoulders, to a neck and a horned head, to a torso and chrome legs beneath and feet right at the bottom. He is his body. He leans against the landing railing.

And then he is undulating his spine, his limbs shifting until he stands straight. He moves his legs with no hesitation or stutter, not a system of parts but a whole. One. He is his body.

There are no words spoken. There is no sound but the roaring in your ears, the drag of your own breath. His fingertips glide down the length of a back, run across a cheek. His tongue is soft probably. His lips are soft probably. Maybe he smells like jasmine. Maybe he smells like smoke. You do not know. Your tongue is not your own, your sense are not yours. All you are is the scrape of one of many horns on your temple, fanged bone pinching into your lip.

He holds a body molded to his. Hands wrap around his neck, a mouth gasps into his. Amber and crimson and inky black. You watch it from somewhere else. It is a body. You cannot feel your own. It is not yours.

Another door is opening. A shadow sticks it head out, moves its mouth but you cannot hear, you don’t have any ears.

The man is gone.

Your body is not your own.


End file.
